Chapter Two The Meet-Not-Cute #2
I frown. She’s probably talking about her mortgage interest. Mom owns this building—with the shop downstairs and the apartment upstairs—and I know she had a meeting with the bank this week.
I bite my lip. Here I am stressing about not having a prom date, and Mom’s worrying about being able to pay her mortgage.
“Interest rates aren’t going to change,” Jenn says. “If your sales don’t go up, you’ll have no choice but to sell the building.”
What? Mom had an offer to sell the whole building … including the apartment we live in? Why is Mom keeping this from me?
“Hopefully it won’t come to that. They don’t need an answer right away.” Mom pauses. “Let’s see what happens this summer. And don’t worry. I’ll talk to Sana before making any decisions.”
I exhale a shaky breath. I can’t keep listening like this. They only sent me to get a flower from the cooler. It shouldn’t take this long. I call out, “Got a ranunculus!” as I loudly run up the stairs.
No one talks about interest rates or selling the business once I’m back. But it’s all I can think about. I wish there were something I could do.
Mom starts cleaning up after Jenn leaves. “Can you cover the flower shop for a few hours on Sunday after your brunch?” she asks while she’s washing the brushes. “I have to head up north. Nani and Nana need their gutters cleaned.”
Mom’s parents, my Nani and Nana, live about an hour north of us. Mom gets called if there are any chores that need to be done in their house since she’s the only one of her siblings somewhat close by.
“Yeah, of course,” I say, still thinking about why Mom would keep this huge secret from me. “Mom, would it help if I left Cosmic to come work for you instead? You seem so… busy lately.”
Mom shakes her head. “Absolutely not. Partially because Jenn would kill me, but also, I can’t give you the hours she does.
You’re making money for school.” Mom smiles, but it seems kind of forced.
“You need to worry about you , Sana, not me. So, why do you need a prom date? I thought you were going with Priya? I hope you two work it out. She’s such a nice girl. ”
Had she been listening at all at dinner? “I don’t want to get back together with Priya,” I say. “But seriously, I can at least cover more hours at the flower shop. I have time.” I have no idea how else I can help, but I have to do something so she won’t sell the building.
“You’re such a good girl. I’m fine though.” She yawns. “I’m meeting that bride again tomorrow… I need to get some inspiration pictures together before bed.”
“Okay.” I reluctantly head back to the couch to study, even though I know there’s no way I’ll be able to focus on this essay now.
I put my hand on the locket on my neck. Maybe this message isn’t a good omen for me only, but for everyone here on Love Street, especially my mom.
Because we all could use some good fortune right now.
I do a little bit of googling that night about interest rates and what would happen if Mom can’t pay her mortgage.
I don’t understand a lot of it, but it’s clear that sales need to increase this summer—otherwise Mom might sell the flower shop and the apartment we live in. Hopefully the BOA can do something.
On Saturday I go home after my shift at Cosmic to get my history books so I can study at LoveBug before the BOA meeting.
I see Mom at the workbench in the flower shop on my way out, so I pop in to say hi.
Mom looks so pretty in her floral dress with Converse sneakers and a denim jacket.
She has a beautiful little bouquet in front of her made with the pink ranunculus from the cooler earlier.
“That’s so pretty,” I say. “I love ranunculuses.”
“Yeah, waste of time though. As soon as I finished it, the customer called saying they don’t need it anymore.
” Mom sighs, shaking her head. “A theater company ordered it for a play, then decided to use silk flowers. At least they paid up front. Too bad I can’t sell it—I’m about to close for the day. ”
“Oooh, if you don’t need it, let me take it to LoveBug and take some pictures! I can put them up on the flower shop’s Instagram.”
Mom shrugs and hands me the bouquet.
“So, are you coming to the meeting?”
Mom nods. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Jenn said it’s my neighborhood duty.”
I laugh. “Yay! I’ll see you there.”
The LoveBug café opened about a year ago, and I was utterly delighted when it did.
In fact, the whole city was delighted. There was a ton of buzz from Toronto blogs and influencers, and the café is still pretty popular with people who want an adorable aesthetic for their social pics.
With the pink floral wallpaper, pastel dishes, gold cutlery, and pale pink tables, LoveBug is the only love -themed business on the street.
It’s such an improvement over Donut Time, the café that always smelled like cigarettes and, despite its name, never actually had any donuts.
LoveBug is owned by husband and wife Ajit Patel and Julie Choi. The design of the café is all Julie, and the menu is all Ajit. The two seem so different until you talk to them and realize they are pretty much the same person. I seriously want to be them when I grow up.
Julie’s wiping a table near the front when I come in, and she gives me a hug. “That bouquet is gorgeous!” she says.
“Stunning, right? Can I take some pictures of it here for my mom’s Insta? I’ll tag LoveBug too.”
“Yeah, absolutely. You’re staying for the BOA meeting, right?”
I nod. “I need to do some schoolwork first.”
“I really hope we actually get something done this time,” Julie says as she goes back to cleaning tables.
“Something other than Mrs. Kotch complaining about prices and Grant going on about the bike thefts in the park. I get that bike thefts are a problem, but what can we do about what happens in the park?” Julie finishes wiping the table.
“Want a pink chai?” She knows my favorite drink.
I love the pink Kashmiri chai latte at LoveBug, not only because of the gorgeous light pink color but the sweet milky cardamom flavor, too.
“Yes, please. And a pistachio biscotti. Can you put it on my tab?”
“Sure thing. I’ll get Charlene to bring it for you.”
I drop my bag onto one of the pale pink café tables. “Who’s Charlene?”
Julie beams. “My new part-timer! You have to see her latte art. She made a perfect Mickey Mouse on a matcha latte yesterday. She’s studying biology at U of T.”
I look over at the counter and see a dark-haired white girl with Ajit. She’s pretty, with wavy hair, and is wearing plum-colored lip gloss and a pink sweatshirt with an illustration of a hamster on it.
“She’s cute,” I say.
“She’s lovely . And she’s working out so well.
I didn’t want to hire her at first because she’s vegan—last time I had a vegan barista, they handed someone an egg and bacon sandwich calling it a ‘chicken ovum and pig fat’ sandwich.
And they called a latte ‘bovine breast milk and espresso.’ Thankfully, Charlene isn’t judgy. ”
I cringe. I’m a vegetarian, but I’m not militant like that. And if I were, I’d never take a job in a café that served animal products.
I grab a table near the window and pull out everything I need: my laptop, my history book, a new romance from the library (because I’ll need a break, of course), and Mom’s bouquet.
Charlene brings my chai and cookie, and after about half an hour of taking notes, I decide that’s enough history for now—time for that photo.
I pick up the flowers. It’s a self-standing bouquet, which means you can hold it or stand it upright on a surface, and it perfectly matches the aesthetic of this café.
I arrange the flowers in front of my pink drink and half-eaten cookie, with the turquoise romance book in the background.
When I stand to take a picture for my Instagram, I notice a guy I’d never seen before ordering at the counter.
It isn’t the fact that he’s unfamiliar that makes me take note of him, though.
Nope, it’s because he’s like… capital C cute .
His skin is brown like mine, and he has longish black hair pushed behind his ears.
Plus glasses. Kind of nerdy, but in a cute way.
He’s wearing brown cords and a perfectly faded red T-shirt with black bands around the sleeves, and he’s carrying a worn-out canvas messenger bag and a paperback tucked under his arm.
When he turns, I see wide-set eyes, a perfect jawline, and full lips. Nice .
And also? I hear Charlene repeat his order back to him—a pink Kashmiri chai latte.
This could be the meet-cute I was waiting for.
Maybe the reason I’ve never been in love is because I always go for people who are so different from me.
Like Priya is a total overachiever, and I’m clearly not.
Before Priya, I was with Noah, who was a complete jock, and before Noah was Dawson, who hated the color pink, flowers, or anything he deemed too girlie (except Amber Reynolds’s extremely girlie breasts).
But this pink chai guy? He’s hanging out in LoveBug and drinking Kashmiri chai, so he clearly isn’t allergic to the color pink. He’s got brown skin, so maybe he’s Indian, like me. He’s wearing cords, and I practically live in corduroy. And he loves to read! We have so much in common already.
I’m never afraid of talking to people I don’t know, so I give the guy my most winning smile as he walks toward the tables with his clear mug of pink tea. I’m hoping he’ll take the hint and sit at a table near mine.